Marshal Mary
by Adelled
Summary: Why did Mary become a U.S. Marshal?


Title: Marshal Mary

Summary: Why did Mary become a U.S. Marshal?

Disclaimer: Mary Shannon belongs to David Maples. If she hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

IPS***IPS*** IPS***IPS*** IPS***IPS*** IPS***IPS*** IPS***IPS***

Night watchman Mary Shannon looked up from the textbook she had hidden behind the podium of the guard station.

"Hi Claude. How's the leg tonight?"

An older man wearing the same blue windbreaker that Mary wore, heaved himself into the seat behind the guard station. He breathed out as he sat, as if all the air had been forced out of him, compressed, as he sat down.

"Okay. I'm doing okay tonight," he drawled. Mary knew better. "I'll make rounds tonight. Just keep me awake."

"Nyah, nyah none of that. I can do my part. Coffee?" he asked.

"Umm yeah, sure." Mary didn't care for the swill from the coffee machine in the break room, but it had caffeine. She needed that to study for her human sexuality exam. "Who knew sex was so complicated?" she muttered.

With considerable effort, Claude heaved himself out of the chair and shuffled down the hall. He returned in a few minutes with two paper cups. Mary was scrutinizing the black and white security monitors.

"See anything?" he asked.

"Just our homeless guy out back. He better not take a dump again."

After taking a sip of coffee, Mary scuttled off. "Be right back." Claude would keep an eye on things.

Opening the back door to the alley, Mary shouted "Hey" getting the scruffy man's attention. "You need to use the bathroom?"

The guy nodded slowly.

"Get in here," she ordered. He shuffled his way to the door. Mary grabbed his arm with her gloved hand. "This way."

Once in the men's room, he stared at her. "Yeah, I'm staying. Do your business and make it quick."

The man shuffled into a stall. Mary checked her watch. She had to be back on station in twenty minutes. After what seemed forever, but was actually 10 minutes, the man left the stall, washed his hands and headed for the exit. Mary escorted him outside, and locked the door.

Claude murmured, "That was a kind thing you did, Mary." She shrugged. Claude had done the same thing many a night.

" Yeah, well the company's not thrilled paying for cleaning up hazardous waste. I'm just looking out for their bottom line." Embarrassed by Claude's praise she said, "I'll take the first round."

It took her twenty minutes to check the offices and bathrooms on two floors. The cleaning crew and come and gone. She had to get back and finish her review for tomorrow's test. The security guard position meant she could go to school days and work nights. The only problem was finding time to sleep.

Claude didn't have that problem. He was asleep at the security desk when Mary returned. She checked the monitors, nudged Claude and resumed highlighting her notes and checking the textbook. When it came time for rounds, she nudged Claude again. This time she made sure his eyes opened. "Keep an eye on the monitors."

Claude grunted and stood. Mary walked down the hall, checking over her shoulder to make sure Claude was still upright.

Rounds completed, Mary sat next to Claude, who was now wide awake and chatty. "I never wanted to be a security guard," he confided. Mary snorted. Like who would? "I wanted to be in law enforcement."

"You," Mary exclaimed. She couldn't see the pussycat of a man beside her as a bad ass lawman. "You mean like the FBI, right? They're all accountant types. You'd fit right in," she teased, pushing her shoulder against his.

"Nah, nah. I wanted to be a United States Marshal." Claude said the title with reverence.

"Marshal, huh? Why's that?" Mary knew there were marshals at the court house but she'd never met one.

"For one, they aren't limited by jurisdiction. They have the right to pursue and arrest in all 50 states. The fugitive task force doesn't have to determine guilt, the perp has already been found guilty and escaped. They find him and bring him in."

"Dead or alive," Mary taunted, thinking of old television westerns.

"Alive usually," Claude declared.

"You know any marshals?" Mary asked.

"One or two," Claude replied. "There was a woman who worked guarding a federal judge. The judge was a woman and she felt more comfortable with a female. Marge said it was a good gig. Regular hours, on alert during court and when the judge entered and left. She was home for dinner with the kids every night."

The pale sadness on Claude's face convinced Mary there was more to the story. "What happened?"

"One night, as the judge was leaving the courthouse Marge saw someone behind the garage support pillar. She signaled her partner, and went to cover the judge as she got into the car. There was a shot. Marge was wearing a vest, but the bullet hit her in the head. She never regained consciousness," he breathed out long and shaky.

Mary took his left hand, awkwardly patting it. The simple gold band on it gleamed. "Who was she?"

Throat croaky and wet, Claude sighed, "She was my wife. If I had been there, if I could have been her partner. . . . "

Softly Mary told him, "I'm sorry for your loss." Even though it was years ago, his pain was sharp and new.

Claude wasn't done. "I was local homicide." Mary's head jerked up. This kind grandfather tracked murderers?

"They wouldn't let me work the case, but that didn't stop me. I got the son of a bitch," he grated out the words. "And he gave me this," Claude patted his gimpy leg.

"Marge loved being a marshal. She loved the fact that there had been US Marshals for as long as there's been a United States. She liked to shoot," he reminisced. "She was a really good shot," he said turning to catch her eye.

"I'm sure she was," Mary agreed. Claude had run out of words.

Marshal Service, Mary thought. I'll have to check that out.


End file.
